


Magnificent (Instrumental)

by superagentwolf



Series: With Religious Fervor [9]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone is a Cinnamon Roll, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Smut, Graves is a Hopeless Softie, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Post-Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:30:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9037532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: Sometimes, it is easier to understand the world- and what lies beyond the physical- through another. Credence and Graves are very different, yet somehow, despite everything, they are transcendent. They are more together.





	1. Body

Credence comes home to the apartment and finds a barrier, shimmering, stopping him from reaching the doorknob.

His heart drops to the floor and panics, immediately pressing a finger to the coin in his pocket.

_It makes sense for me to give you one,_ Tina had said, smiling. _In case._

He raises a hand, wanting to scream, but he knows better. Instead he uses his wand, channeling the magic, opening a gap wide enough to walk through.

On the other side, there is utter chaos.

The door is broken. He can hear splintering wood and crashing plates. Something dark shoots from a corner and Credence roars, stepping into the room.

“ _No_!” Graves shouts, appearing from the bedroom, and Credence feels fury and crushing sorrow at the cut on the man’s cheek.

Something moves towards Credence and he ignores it, firing a shield charm as he moves towards Graves. His stomach falls again, and he looks down, seeing the charm activate in a glowing light.

He hits the ground, hard, back protesting when some foreign object digs in. He growls, flicking his wrist, and the charm breaks in time for him to rise. Graves is there, suddenly, and as he’s helping Credence up something dark flies towards him, glinting in the light.

Credence screams and Graves’ eyes widen, the silence like a beast in the room.

Credence lashes out and the intruder is pinned to the wall, immobilized and unconscious. The door opens again but Credence ignores it, catching Graves as he falls, and he doesn’t know what he’s saying.

Tina pulls at his arm eventually, reassuring, _he’s fine, but we have to get him to the hospital_. Credence lets them take Graves, but even as they do he can see the knife flying through the air and towards Graves.

* * *

Graves wakes after only a few minutes, sore and tired, and Picquery is there to give him the key to a hotel room. She explains the investigation will be over soon, assures him that Robert and a few other friends are doing the work.

Graves is grateful at least for that, and the way that he emerges to find Credence in one of Robert’s friend’s care. Credence looks tired, and a little shaken, so Graves thanks the man and sends him on his way.

“Let’s go,” he says carefully, watching Credence.

The boy nods, and Graves hopes that the incident hasn’t done anything terrible to his state of mind.

_If he can’t feel safe, what can I do for him?_

* * *

“Come on,” Graves says gently, tugging him towards the bathroom.

Credence doesn’t have the mind to feel embarrassed. He is too wrapped up in the moment, too scared, too close to the moment when he’d thought Graves would be lost to him forever.

They undress easily, as if this is something they always do, and Credence is grateful for Picquery’s misplaced excess. The tub is enormous and Graves fills it quickly, the room hazy with steam. They both enjoy their baths a little too hot.

Sometimes, when Credence is suspended in the water, he imagines the heat is a body.

The thought is a little too close and Credence is _very_ aware, suddenly, as Graves pulls him into the tub. He sits with his back to the man, allowing Graves to trace the small bruises there.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Graves murmurs, fingers soft.

Credence can feel the bruises dissipating.

“I was afraid,” Credence turns, serious. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

“…you won’t lose me,” Graves says, but he looks distracted.

Credence moves closer, knowing, and his skin is flushed with heat. He is half out of the water, ignoring the way water spirals off his body, the spare chill of the air raising bumps on his skin.

“Promise me.”

Graves tilts his head, brow furrowed.

“Promise that I won’t lose you,” Credence whispers, close.

He can almost hear Graves swallow.

“I could never leave you,” Graves says instead, voice rough.

The heat reaches a fever pitch and Credence can’t stand it, doesn’t want to ignore it anymore. He turns, desperate, and miraculously finds the same haze clouding Graves’ eyes. He hears something, a small noise of need, escape his mouth- and then he’s being pulled close, water splashing over the edges of the tub.

He wants to push himself closer, ignoring the way the water escapes, and Graves growls in his ear when their legs brush. One of his hands slips, grabbing the edge of the tub for balance, and his other explores the hard lines of Graves’ side.

“Are you su-,” Graves starts, the words grit between his teeth, and Credence moves his body enough so that their faces are close.

“Ask me if I’m sure again, and you’re sleeping on the couch,” Credence says, pulse pounding in his ears. He is _desperate,_ he _needs_ this, knows only that he has to reassure himself.

He needs to know that Graves is alive. Is _real_. _Wants_ him.

The man growls and pulls him, sudden, and Credence cries out when he feels something- feels _Graves_ , there, brushing against him as his legs instinctively part to straddle the body beneath him. He leans back a little, shame dissipating when he feels Graves shudder beneath him.

“I won’t do this here,” Graves manages, blinking furiously, and Credence feels a little irritated.

He understands, but he _wants something_ , and he’s enjoying the heady high he gets when Graves falls apart beneath him, losing control.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Credence stutters, barely able to focus, and he lowers his head to fit in the space between Graves’ neck and shoulder. “Let me.”

He shifts again, stars blinking behind his eyelids, and Graves bites into his shoulder- not quite painful, but sharp enough. The pain is swept away, warm and wet, and Credence thinks _has he always been this strong?_ Because Graves’ arms are tense and Credence explores them with inquisitive fingers, enjoying the muscle beneath the skin.

“Here,” Graves murmurs, hands suddenly on Credence’s back, and when he pulls them closer Credence chokes out a strangled noise.

He can feel his body, his heat trapped between them, Graves firm against his skin. He knows logically what is there, warm and hard, resting against his hip. Logic means nothing, however, because he is all feeling and warmth when he covers Graves’ mouth with his own, hoping to muffle the noises he makes when he moves against the man.

He is unthinking when he reaches for Graves’ wrist, pulling it, and he thinks deliriously _maybe he’s psychic,_ because Graves’ hand reaches further down beneath the water, searching.

He cries out when Graves touches him, senses overloaded, head spinning with the sensation. He has never known this kind of touch, thinks his skin is a livewire, _feels_ so intensely that he is unsure if they’re loud or the room is quiet.

“Go on,” Graves encourages, low, and Credence melts a little at the voice in his ear.

He moves, slowly, overwhelmed at first, and he can feel Graves dragging against his leg. He wants to laugh but he barely has breath; the bathroom suddenly seems flooded with light.

_Is this what it feels like?_ He wants to ask, wants to _know_ , because he can’t imagine being any closer to Graves than he is now. He feels the man’s hand on his hip, gentle, guiding, and once he catches the rhythm he loses himself in the feeling.

Time is stretched and wrapped around them, looping and endless, and he feels good and then better and he can’t imagine anything more until it happens and he is crying out, unraveling, hearing his name rough in his ear as Graves bites a path up his neck.

“Credence. Good boy. Good,” the man repeats, firm, a hand roaming his back reassuringly.

Credence blinks, boneless, and returns to his body in pieces. It feels a little like before, he thinks, when he couldn’t control his form- only this is better. Different, somehow. He can smell pine and their bodies, a heady perfume that wraps him in warmth. When he moves back to look at Graves, the man smiles, his hand tracing the unmarked side of Credence’s neck, fingers gentle. Credence leans into the touch, sighing, contented.

“Thank you,” Credence manages, the words a whisper, and they should be wrong but they’re right.

“Anything for my boy,” Graves smiles, and his kiss is sweet on Credence’s lips.


	2. Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not yet morning, but something is breaking between them. Credence has started something, and it isn't finished yet.

Credence wakes in inches, feet twisting under linen, an itch rising all the way to his overgrown bangs. He sighs, an escape of breath, blinking in the dim heat of the room.

Graves is watching him.

There is something heady and dark between them, in Graves’ eyes, and Credence loses what little breath the sigh left him. Something- anticipation, maybe- hovers in the air like a creature, invisible, intent.

Credence does the only thing he can think of, reaching a hand out to feel the black-and-white stubble on Graves’ cheek, textured and strange beneath his fingertips. Graves is still watching him when he turns his head, lips pressed to the pulse at Credence’s wrist.

Credence thinks maybe he can feel his heart beating beneath his chest- it is too close to the surface, to the skin, and he’s almost afraid that one wrong move will tear his chest open and spill the precious organ onto the sheets, bloody red and beating.

“Tell me what you want,” Graves whispers, and Credence realizes the emotion in the man’s eyes.

_What do I want?_

He thinks of mornings spent with bruised knees against hardwood floors. Prayers whispered desperately, not out of belief but in fear. Terror. A sharp belt, metal biting his palm. Looking to the sky through an immaculate window- _she wanted the house spotless_ \- and imagining that there was nothing really there, up above, beyond. There was nothing but _her_ , nothing but her cruel hand and false smiles. Nothing but her dominion over all of them. Her left hand pointed to the sky while the other pointed to herself.

_I am God in this House._

“I want to know…,” he starts, not sure how he will end, or if he needs to.

He doesn’t.

Graves nods, a small movement, rolling closer on the bed. Credence inhales sharply, not only for the spice and pine but for the sudden burning heat of a barely-covered chest.

“Will you let me show you, Credence?”

_Permission,_ Credence thinks, wanting to cry. He had never been asked, before Graves. It had always been orders. On your knees, stop crying, give.

“Yes,” he says, a little shameful because it is God he wants to be closer to, somehow. It is something more.

His head is titled down and Graves moves his bangs so he looks up, expecting, but then there is a mouth on his pulse and he chokes out a noise, startled, whimpering when he feels his body move beneath the wet warmth of Graves’ mouth.

He almost wishes for blood, some primal instinct to give his life overriding common sense.

* * *

 

Graves tastes copper and cinnamon on his tongue, sweet and spicy, and beneath him Credence shivers.

_So frightened,_ Graves thinks distantly. He does not want fear here, between them, now.

“This…it’s fine, Credence,” he almost sighs the words, carefully moving his hands between them, preparing. “It’s natural. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Credence sobs a little, but he looks grateful and Graves hopes it’s a good sign. His fingers pause against the boy’s shirt.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

He waits, trying to ask with his eyes, thinking that maybe it is a little too much. It hasn’t yet been a few hours since Credence was flushed, hot in the bathroom, needing something that Graves had hoped he’d given properly. Sometimes, he isn’t sure what Credence needs, but he tries. He tries so hard because Credence _deserves_ it.

“Yes,” the boy says again, stronger, gaze unwavering.

_Permission_.

So Graves moves slowly, gently unbuttoning, and he is surprised when Credence’s fingers stutter on his shirt, hesitating. He thinks words, if anything, are painful to Credence- so he does the only thing he can think, pressing a kiss to the boy’s pulse, feeling the wrist twitch and flex. The hands at his shirt and unpracticed and clumsy but he ignores the fact, taking his time, giving Credence the room he needs.

_He doesn’t need judgement. He’s never needed it. Deserved it._

He is careful when he removes Credence’s shirt, but he can’t help letting his hands linger, feeling the velvet skin. Credence is pale, sun-deprived, and it shamefully reminds him of some fairy tale prince locked in a castle. He is disgusted by the thought on principle, but he cannot deny the similarity.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, because it is true, and he wants Credence to know.

Credence’s hands stop, shocked, and his lips form around the word, _no_ , but Graves moves to silence it. He takes the opportunity- the kiss- and easily slips his shirt off, letting it fall carelessly, focused. He knows what he must do. He has a task to complete.

_I will show you,_ he thinks. _I will show you how loved you are._

* * *

Graves moves from his mouth and Credence wonders fuzzily where the man’s shirt has gone. Not that he cares, really, because he can see the worn skin of the older man now. The faint scars on the muscled shoulders.

“You have freckles,” Credence blurts, a little surprised, but he can see them even in the dim bedroom. They are light but apparent, sprinkled like- “like angels’ kisses.”

He doesn’t remember where he heard that. All he knows is that it’s true, _must_ be true, because of course this man would be kissed by angels. Of course he would be _covered_ in freckles, in blessings, because why wouldn’t they love him as he deserves to be?

Graves laughs delightedly and Credence blushes but he moves forward, thinking that he wants to add his own, some new freckles, something to show that he, too, has loved this man.

The laugh turns breathless and Graves’ hands scratch his hips, lightly, and Credence feels a rush of delight at the sensation. His mind is clouded but he knows this isn’t really pain- not like what he’s been given before. The scratch of short nails is different- intimate, respectful, wanting attention but not demanding anything.

“Sweet boy,” Graves murmurs, the heat of his mouth skipping across Credence’s face, “such a charmer.”

Credence lets his eyes flutter shut, sinking into the heat, and he feels strange when his ear is suddenly accosted. It is a strange sensation, and it should be repulsive but he shivers unexpectedly when Graves traces the shell of his ear with a practiced tongue.

He is so lost that he almost doesn’t notice when his pants are suddenly gone, fabric being pulled from around his feet somehow- _magic?_ \- and swallowed by the sheets. The linen brushes his bare skin, though, so he starts, heart beating like a drum.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Graves has paused, careful, and his hands are still resting at Credence’s hips but they hover a little, ready to leave.

Credence waits.

_He’s always ready to back away,_ Credence thinks. He is struck, suddenly, by a selfish thought. Something he’s moved around for weeks- months, now. _No,_ he thinks. _I don’t want him standing on the edge. I want him drawn in. I want him so deep he cannot turn away ever again. I want to be the one who stole him from the angels. I want to be the one they whisper about in the office. I-_

“-want you,” Credence breathes, and he thinks, dear God, it’s there, the words in the open, as naked and bare as he is. “I want you,” he repeats, high on the feeling of being exposed.

_I want you._

* * *

He never thought he’d hear it. At most, he had expected a _yes_ or _no_. He had not wanted- had not _needed_ anything more.

But Credence.

Credence has defied expectations at every turn. It’s almost not a surprise in the way that it is. _Paradoxes,_ Graves thinks distantly, but the words in the silent room have drugged him somehow.

_I want you._

He has heard them, a few times before. Has seen them in others’ eyes. Always with the tang of desire, the darkness of a deep lake, the anticipation of pleasure.

When Credence says them, it is different. He says it as if he’s saying he wants air. It is essential, a _part_ of him, as if he wants to be one and the same. He does not want pleasure; he wants something _more_.

Graves loses himself.

He rolls over Credence, suspended because he is not so lost as to forget what he’s really doing, and leans down. Credence rises, ready, and his mouth is already open in expectation, like one receiving communion. Graves has always been pleased by the fact that Credence- once he’d gained confidence- gives as good as he gets. He is eager above all else, and there is something about his attention- his unfailing attention to detail- that makes him the perfect student.

_And they thought you couldn’t be taught,_ Graves thinks with satisfaction.

Credence moves instinctively, arching into Graves, and when their bodies touch he gasps into their kiss, shaking. Graves can feel his nails biting sharply into his arm.

“You are perfect, Credence,” he says, and his voice is rough to his ears.

_Like a constellation,_ he thinks, tracing a path from each dark mole on the boy’s skin. Credence shivers, twisting on the bed as if he’s trying to get even closer to Graves. He is already wet, Graves feels against their skin, _not much time_.

* * *

“Please,” Credence manages, unable to stop shaking. He feels oversensitive, stretched beyond his own body as if the Obscurial is back, reaching out in smoke and darkness.

Graves shushes him, soft, and he leans closer. The moment he bites at Credence’s jaw, soft but insistent, Credence gasps harshly and arches. There is a hand below his waist, grasping, and every inch of his body feels electric. He wonders if every time is better- cannot think to compare it to their moment in the bathroom because he can’t think, can’t remember anything, but it must be better this time because if not why is he so unable to think?

The hand moves slowly and Credence bites his lip, tasting blood, the copper grounding him if only a little. He tries to fight, just a little, against his own body. He fails miserably and his hips lurch, wanting, but he thinks _no_. He doesn’t want to come the same way, fumbling, against the man giving him pleasure.

_I want him to unravel,_ Credence thinks, and he reaches to turn Graves’ head from his neck.

Graves’ eyes are inquisitive, _stop?_ , but Credence pulls him up and drinks him in, losing boundaries when their tongues intertwine.

When he’s distracted, Credence carefully moves his hand, nervous but determined, brushing against the older man. Against the warmth and firmness he feels, curious because it is almost like his own but not quite, and he feels how slick the heat has made him.

Graves chokes and Credence is triumphant, heart soaring as he pulls just a little, gentle, trying to memorize the way Graves has done it, and then there is a biting kiss over the cut on his lip and he chokes himself.

He can feel Graves pulse in his hand.

His mind spirals, everything dizzy and lost, and he knows instinctively that they are _both_ close, somehow, an endless loop. Beginning at the end and back again.

Graves shifts and Credence lets his legs fall open, inviting, unthinking.

“Yes,” he says before there is a question, wanting, “please.”

He thinks he must look shameless, spread open on the bed, and he knows he is too pale for the red blush. Graves doesn’t seem to think so, however, because he positively _drinks_ in the sight, unabashed in his roaming. Credence shivers a little, reaching, but his hand cannot touch the man between his legs.

“Relax,” Graves says, hushed, his hand moving one last time. Gathering.

Credence’s fingers catch the sheets, gripping, and he tries to compel his body to wait. He can’t think straight, can only see freckles and the curve of muscle, a sharp hip, deliciously flat planes.

Graves is careful but it still burns at first, foreign, a careful and oddly cool finger working at him. Credence wriggles a little, trying to relax, but Graves’ hand pushes gently at his stomach, stopping.

“Shhh,” the man says, a kiss and a bite on the leg making Credence stop. “Relax.”

Soon enough it doesn’t feel as strange, still odd but more pleasurable, and then there are other fingers. Credence wants to laugh a little- _that isn’t your wand hand, is it_ \- but he stops because Graves rises, fingers gone, and he’s displeased by the void left behind.

But his stomach- and something below- is tingling a little, anticipating.

“Do you want me to?”

“I want you,” Credence says, firm, and he pulls Graves’ forehead onto his, fingers tangled in bed-tousled hair.

Graves kisses him, soft, and then Credence is biting his abused lip because he can _feel_ Graves, right there, waiting. Warm and wet and then Credence is thinking _can I do this_ until suddenly there is a push and all he can think is-

“Aa _aa_ h- yes, yes, yesyesyes-,” words breaking and broken and emptied onto the damp sheets.

Graves groans, arms twitching under Credence’s hands, and Credence cannot think anything, is too involved, can only think in the pulse where they are connected. He has no idea, doesn’t know what this is, but they are one where they meet and Credence can feel his own need hot and heavy, resting between their hips.

“Good, good, Credence, that’s my boy, that’s it,” Graves repeats, over and over like a prayer.

Graves moves and Credence grips his arms hard, keening, lost in the motion- it’s nothing like before, not as fast as when he was brought off in hand, but it is _so much better_ that he is mindless and uncaring. Grave’s mouth and hands are everywhere and Credence can’t keep up, forgets even to reciprocate because there are stars behind his eyelids, entire supernovas.

_Is this what God feels like?_ he wonders. _Is this love?_

_He said he would show me,_ Credence thinks, spinning. _Show me his love._ _I have to answer._

“I-,” Credence tries, breaking when Graves pushes and pulls, and he forces himself to finish the thought before they finish- “I love you.”

Graves is there with him, _pushes_ , and it fills Credence gloriously, hot and heavy and _everywhere_. He cries out, lost and found in one breath, and then there is a mouth on him and he spirals into emptiness. Tears blur his first image of Graves, mouth locked around him, and he blinks them away because he wants to _see,_ wants to know this moment and hold it in his heart for the rest of eternity. He is beyond feeling, riding a pulsing wave as he watches Graves move away, mouth dripping shamelessly. His tongue swipes out of the corner of his mouth, tasting, and Credence almost feels the crest again.

He notices that Graves isn’t finished so he pulls him in, kissing away the question, curious at the strange taste. _Me._ When Graves returns to him, he does not feel pain, only a low hum as the man releases, breathing out, warmth blossoming in Credence.

_I love you,_ the man says. He’s been saying it, and Credence knows now, is glad, pulling them closer together and further in.

They lie in bed, somewhere beyond feeling and thought and words, and Credence sighs, breathing in the perfume of their love in the breaking of the morning light.

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J.H.C. I may or may not have been distracted several hundred times while writing this. Also, I'm sorry, I couldn't wait until New Year...I'll write more soon!


	3. Neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have a job to do. This time, though, Robert comes along.

“I am more than willing to take him on,” Graves says lowly.

Credence leans against the door, breathless, listening.

“I know perfectly well what you are willing to do,” Picquery says, firm.

Credence can’t help feeling an itch of annoyance and anger. He knows she’s only trying to do what she thinks is best…he just wishes she thought otherwise.

“We have more new recruits every day. Let me take him with me. He’ll learn well and in time, he may be able to assist me.”

“I have no doubt he already does,” Picquery responds, quick, and Credence can hear the implication.

He feels fire rise in him, indignant, and he is all but ready to burst through the door when a hand rests lightly on his shoulder.

Robert winks, raising a finger to his lips, and then he slips inside.

* * *

“Madam President,” Robert says politely, and Graves almost starts at the unexpected entrance.

Almost.

“Good. Robert. Perhaps _you_ can impress upon Graves the gravity of the current situation.”

“Ma’am?”

“You need a partner, do you not?”

Graves wants to shout. _So what then? She wants me working with Robert again? What for?_

“I was under the impression that Graves would be taking Credence on as a trainee,” Robert says mildly, raising his eyebrows.

To anyone else, he would seem innocent. Graves knows him, though. He can see the gears whirring in the man’s head. _Always up to something,_ he thinks fondly. This time he thinks Robert is trying to help.

“Given the current climate, I think you would understand the need for only the best to handle sensitive situations.”

“But of course. What better place to gauge the gravity of Credence’s skill? From what I hear, he was not even expected to be able to hold a wand. He _is_ quite powerful,” Robert adds, as if it’s what Picquery had said and he is only agreeing.

Graves bites back a laugh.

Picquery is silent for a moment and Graves can see her jaw tighten a fraction. He feels a little bad for ganging up on her, but he is insistent that Credence be trained. _He’s done so much. Come so far. He wants to help._

“…in that case, perhaps it would be best for the three of you to take the watch together.”

“Are you certain?” Robert asks, feigning puzzlement. “I’m sure the both of them could handle it.”

“Indeed,” Picquery says drily, and Graves notices the way her eyes linger on Robert’s polite expression. “Consider this a favor- for my peace of mind.”

“Of course,” Robert acquiesces, bowing slightly in deference, and as he turns he winks at Graves.

_Cheeky._

* * *

“Well, it’s nice to see you two out and about,” Robert says cheerily, swinging an umbrella on his arm.

It’s rainy and cold and the streets are filled with people huddling into their coats. Credence suspects it will snow soon, and he’s a little wary of the weather. Being close to Graves makes him instinctively warmer, however- he’s having a hard time concentrating when all he can think of is their previous night, draped in covers and a fine sheen of sweat that had rendered their bath even more useless than it had already been.

_Twice in less than one day,_ he thinks, a little embarrassed. _Although the first time was certainly all me._

He isn’t ashamed, though. He wouldn’t trade the last twenty-four hours for anything else in the world. _I know more about him now. And me. Us._

“So what is this escalation Picquery’s been going on about?” Graves asks, solemn.

“A war is coming,” Robert says quietly, and the umbrella’s orbit tightens. “We’ve been seeing more and more of Grindelwald’s people coming out of the cracks. They attack sometimes, forcing us into combat. It’s been sporadic so far, but we know enough to know something is happening. Something dark.”

“Has he been questioned?” Credence asks quietly. He hates to say the man’s name, hates to give him the time of day- but he knows, if he wants to be part of MACUSA, with Graves, he will have to deal with it.

“As much as he could be,” Robert says, approving. “but he will not give up much. All we know is what we’ve known since the war. Names and ideals and generalizations. Luckily, he’s in custody. For now. All the dark wizards we’ve seen so far have been small fry.”

“So far,” Graves mutters, shaking his head. “What are we doing, then? Watching?”

“Watching,” Robert agrees. “There are a few of them in the hotel on the edge of town. We aren’t sure that they’re planning anything, but Picquery would rather we know first if they are. There’s a small bookstore across the street. We’ve been keeping watch from the second floor.”

“Have you found anything yet?” Credence asks.

He can see the hotel looming in the distance. Wet brick and dilapidated ads.

“Not yet,” Robert sighs. “They have predictable patterns. Leave only at eleven for lunch or groceries; return by two and generally stay inside for the day.”

“All day? They never come out?”

“No. They haven’t been leaving through the back, either.”

“…deliveries?”

The question makes Graves turn and Credence sees pride in the man’s eyes. He warms a little at the acknowledgement.

“Well done,” Robert grins, tapping the stones beneath his feet with the umbrella. “Yes. Not too much of note, but there are constant letters. Almost regularly, every Thursday.”

_Today,_ Credence thinks. He wonders what Picquery would have done if Graves had refused to join the watch. _She’s counting on him._

“We need to see those letters, then.”

“Yes. We do.”

* * *

Graves rests his chin on laced fingers. His hands are clasped, elbows on his knees, and as he leans forward he can see the rain darkening the horizon.

“It’s going to get bad out there,” Robert murmurs, hands in his pockets, purplish vest silky like a lake.

“It is. Might make it easier to intercept the letter.”

Credence is leaning on the wall by the window, clear eyes focused on the street below. Graves has found himself half-distracted many times already, gaze drawn to pale skin and angled cheekbones. Sometimes he lingers too long on the curve of Credence’s lip and he’s drawn back into the warmth of his bed, limbs and smooth muscle calling out from his memories.

It’s a bit embarrassing. He hopes Robert doesn’t notice.

“Maybe we don’t have to take it,” Credence says slowly, and Graves can see him emerging, as if from a pool of water.

Graves waits. He knows what’s coming.

“How would you suggest we proceed?” Robert asks kindly, tilting his head.

“Copy it,” Credence submits. “Use the doubling charm.”

Graves can’t fight the smile on his face. Credence seems pleased with the reaction; he draws himself away from the wall and upright.

“That’s that, then,” Robert says cheerfully. “It’s up to you, dear.”

* * *

Credence walks down the street, hands wrapped around a package- books, wrapped in brown paper.

_Believable,_ Robert had said. _Don’t forget to cross the street after you retrieve the copy._

The rain has arrived, precisely on time- and so has the courier.

The man is nondescript at first sight. Plain clothes and a plainer face. Only there is something there, Credence notices, something he isn’t sure he would have seen before. A sharpness in the man’s eyes. Knowledge. Knowledge of magic.

Credence paces himself, timing, remembering years of moving around people and trying to hand out flyers. He’d been more convincing as a child, with a small voice and pleading hands. As a young man, he’d been ignored.

It’s ignorance he’s counting on now.

The rain pours from the sky and he rushes a little faster, imagining the books in his hand to be priceless. Imagining another Graves in another life waiting for him, chin tilted, _bring them here, boy_.

The courier on the sidewalk crosses the street just as Credence is rushing into the spot the man will fill. They collide easily, an accident of timing and bad weather, and Credence loses his grip on the package, cursing as he bends, unintelligible.

“ _Gemino_ ,” he whispers, wand tucked beneath his sleeve, and the letter peels itself into two.

When he scoops up the package, the duplicate falls on top and he crushes the books to his chest, protecting the thin paper of the envelope.

“Pardon,” he manages distractedly, ignoring the man as he crosses the street. He does not look back.

_Never look back._

He hurries into the bookstore. Imaginary Graves is waiting, biting his lip, staring down at a list as he absently places new purchases on a shelf. _I wonder if he’ll open a bookstore, once this is all done,_ Credence thinks to himself.

“Well done,” Robert greets him as he climbs the stairs. He winks, whisking away the package. “Take it to Graves. I’ll let Picquery know.”

Graves is waiting in the room and Credence enters carefully, letter in hand. He is about to speak when Graves rises, crossing the room, and he makes a hungry noise before positively _devouring_ Credence.

Credence feels the paper slip from his fingers a little and he distractedly slips it onto a table, hand preoccupied with the body before him.

“ _Brilliant,_ ” Graves growls when he takes a breath of air. His mouth is hot against Credence’s mouth. “You are _beautiful_ , Credence, _perfect boy_ -,”

Credence is more than a little lost in the praise, and he knows he should be somewhat insulted by the term _boy_ but all it does is stir him a little more, some strange reaction making him vibrate with pleasure.

He bites at Graves’ mouth and is rewarded with a kiss that is deeper yet, strong hands propelling him against a wall. He ignores the bump of hard wood against his back, too preoccupied with the wool-clad leg making its way between his own. He tries not to whimper but fails when the pressure increases, the man’s knee less intruding and more inviting.

“Wait-,” he starts, a little confused, because he knows he’s supposed to be doing _something_ -

Roberts sneezes from the staircase and Graves blinks, letting Credence push him off a little. Credence coughs, swiping a hand over his hair, adjusting the fold of his collar.

“Well. I hope you two have been productive,” Robert says conversationally as he appears in the doorway, making his way directly towards the letter on the table.

_He knows,_ Credence thinks, and he turns to the window to hide his raging blush. _Oh, god-_

“ _Thank_ you. Robert,” Graves coughs, and Credence notices with some pleasure that the man is also a little less than composed. “what did Picquery say?”

“We deliver the letter to headquarters. Just in case,” Robert replies, waving the envelope as he turns to descend the stairs.

“All right,” Graves sighs, and he casts an apologetic glance at Credence.

Credence grins.

“Worth it,” he murmurs, enjoying Graves’ stifled laughter.

“Come on!” Robert calls from the bottom of the stairs. “Bank’s closed! Take a check!”

So Graves leads, cursing good-naturedly, and Credence can’t help his blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Getting back to action here, and incorporating a bit of Graves and Credence's more solid relationship.  
> Some trivia: 1920s slang- "bank's closed" is something you say to get people to stop making out. "Cash or check" means kiss now or later; "check" would mean later, as in 'rain check'. To "neck" is basically to make out.


	4. Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigating the letter leads to an interesting revelation. In the end, Credence begins to understand his place not only with Graves but at MACUSA.

“The letter,” Picquery starts, and then she pauses.

Graves knows why.

Credence is there, standing a little further behind, next to the door. He knows, with the air of a practiced man, that he is not entirely welcome or trusted.

_Absurd_.

“What did it say?” Graves stares hard.

“…it’s a warning,” Picquery explains, a little reticent but firm. “They’re planning something. An attack. We don’t know what their advantage is but they seem to think they have one. We need to stop them before they ever set foot in the building.”

“It may be too late for that,” Robert announces, slipping into the room quietly.

Robert looks different when he’s serious, Graves thinks. The brightness in his eyes is sharper, the set of his mouth steel. He looks like a dangerous man. _I suppose we’re all dangerous._

“What do you mean?”

“We had a breach,” Robert says, irritation clear in his tone.

_A breach_?

“Who? How?” Graves asks, fingers gripping the table.

It’s not his job to scan personnel. Still, he feels responsibility.

“Thankfully a newer recruit. He was going to work his way up. Steadwell says he came in with a batch weeks ago.”

“How did we not catch this?” Picquery asks. She looks unsettled. Angry.

_She should be,_ Graves thinks. _If we can be compromised, we can be destroyed._ He thinks this is the most recent in a list of weaknesses he’s come to realize. Weaknesses that had cost them Credence, at first. Cost his own freedom.

Credence seems to notice his introspection and he steps forward, gaze steady. _We’re here,_ he seems to communicate. _Now._

 “False memories,” Robert says coldly. “Dangerous at best. They must have gone through dozens of people before they found one still capable of thought after the process.”

_False memories,_ Graves thinks, simultaneously disgusted and horrified. He knows the spell- it’s difficult in the best of conditions, with a willing subject. Even then, only the smallest of things are safe. He can’t even imagine implanting a whole series of false memories. A week’s worth, or a month’s. _How many were broken? How many gave their very minds?_ He wonders, feeling a little ill.

It’s painful to take memories. Giving them, however, is slow torture. It dissolves the mind from the inside, creating confusion and mistrust and instability.

“How far did they get?”

“Not very,” Robert says shortly, sliding papers onto the desk. “He seems to have accessed simple information- building layout, basic protocols. It was recent, however- we don’t think the information had been forwarded yet.”

“Graves. I’ll leave you to countermeasures,” Picquery says quickly.

“Yes, Madam President.”

“Send me the details within the hour. The three of you will be going back to the hotel. We need to silence them immediately.”

_Silence_?

“Should we strive for detainment? To understand what they know?” Robert’s question is tense. He seems to be telling, rather than asking.

_Dangerous,_ Graves wants to warn him. _She doesn't want questions. She knows what she wants._

“You should strive for security,” Picquery says softly, and her eyes shift between the three of them. _Even Credence_. “Protect our people.”

* * *

Credence is quiet, watching Graves’ hand move in a flurry of black and white. The ink from his pen dries instantly as he works, letters forming almost instantaneously.

_But still not as fast as his mind._

“Something is happening,” Credence starts, quiet.

“…yes,” Graves admits, equally quiet.

As if he is treading on glass. As if the tension in the air is not just felt. It is a wire, tangled around every witch and wizard and no-maj, and Credence thinks the net is tightening. _Like spiderwebs._

“What was it like? Before?”

Graves’ hand stutters, for a second, and Credence holds his breath.

“Like this,” the man says, voice rough with some unnamed emotion. “It was like this.”

* * *

“You know enough, I think,” Robert smiles, but he is focused. It is not the light grin he normally wears.

Credence nods.

“I know enough to stay safe. Don’t worry about me.”

“Dear boy,” Robert laughs, and some of the worry seems to have lifted from his shoulders. “I don’t think I’ll ever worry about your abilities.”

At first Credence had felt uneasy with Robert’s familiarity. _Dear boy_. It was what Graves would say. He thinks, however, that the tone there is different. With Robert, Credence thinks it’s more endearing.

He thinks if anything he’s more irrationally worried about Robert. The man has always seemed so pleasant and bright; Credence worries what will happen in battle.

_He’s an Auror. He fought with Graves,_ he tries to remind himself. _He has to be competent._

But still.

“Robert, you’ll cover the window,” Graves says, striding into the room. “Credence, you’ll stay at the door. I’ll search the corners.”

“There are at least four men,” Robert explains, rolling his sleeves, buttoning them past his wrists. “Keep an eye out; sometimes a fifth visits.”

“The barrier will extend into the next two rooms over on either side of the hall,” Credence explains quietly. “Bertrand says they’ll keep it up for as long as possible. We’re guaranteed at least twenty minutes. After that, the shield may be compromised.”

Bertrand, Credence thinks, is Robert’s second-in-command. The man had looked after him when Graves had been injured during the last infiltration. _A nice man,_ he thinks. Entirely devoted. Tall and slim, with blue-black raven hair and deep blue eyes. He’d been part of Robert’s team, the ones who had investigated the apartment after Graves was attacked there.

“Twenty minutes,” Robert snorts, rolling his eyes. “He’s being silly, undervaluing himself. We’ll have at least thirty-five. _Then_ he may have difficulty.”

“Whatever the case, try to keep spells to temporary curses and disabling charms,” Graves reminds them. “ _I_ want captives.”

Credence smiles a little. _Autonomy,_ he thinks.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Bertrand is waiting in the hall.

Graves remembers him from before. They’d been in the same team. Robert had known the man better, he thinks. Somewhere along the line, perhaps when Robert had been tasked to a different department, Bertrand Shepard had become Robert’s partner.

“Sir,” the man nods, eyes glinting. _Like a bird._ “We’re ready when you are.”

“Good,” Graves says quietly, drawing his wand. “Let’s begin.”

He hears Robert and Credence following him. When they enter the hallway, the Aurors at either end of the passage lift their wands, silvery spells webbing across the space. They shine and glitter, absorbed into the building itself. A barrier.

He slips to the side of the door, pausing. Catching Credence’s eye.

_We can do this,_ he thinks, trying to communicate through a look.

Credence, with the same marble strength Graves had first seen in a damp alley, gazes right back.

_We can._

He moves quickly.

The door is unlocked with a simple spell, which is his first clue. Robert notices, grip tighter on his wand, and Credence’s hand ghosts against Graves’ arm, reinforcing. _They know,_ he thinks, and even though he’s confident in them it gives him peace.

When he enters the room, Robert swirls in a quick apparition, moving towards the window. Credence immediately casts a shielding spell, shutting the door behind him, and Graves steps into the unknown. They are like a well-oiled machine, he thinks distantly, and he expected as much with Credence; Robert, however, is comfortable, too. He is familiar, like clay, molding himself to fit into their dynamic like a placeholder.

_He could have been an actor,_ Graves thinks with mild amusement, and then all hell breaks loose.

There are three men in the immediate vicinity. Credence easily defends himself from an overenthusiastic man, disabling him quickly and locking his body with a curse. Graves spins, opening the door with a flick, and Credence sends the captive into the hallway before blocking the door again.

It is quick, but it is only one person. The other two men are joined by a third, the new adversary appearing from the bedroom. Robert easily blocks the window, catching a man trying to disapparate, and Graves almost winces at the way Robert forces the man back, pulling at the black smoke and condensing it forcefully.

Forcing someone back is nasty and painful, he thinks, but Robert has mastered the art with unnerving precision.

_Four,_ Graves thinks, counting the captive. _Only four, it seems. Fine enough. They knew we were coming, but we can still handle them._

That’s what he thinks, and another two men fall before something hits him, hard.

He feels a moment of confusion, arms locked in place, and Credence starts to say something but then there’s a wand against his neck.

_No,_ Graves thinks, sudden and desperate.

The movement stops, as sudden as it had begun, and Graves takes stock of the situation.

Two men immobilized. The third, panting and injured, can barely hold the spell that’s restraining Graves. The fifth- the one that had been lurking, Graves thinks, has his wand to Credence’s neck.

“A valiant effort,” the fifth man says, digging his wand a little further, and Credence’s hands flex.

_Don’t do it,_ Graves wants to say, but he stares hard instead. Credence meets his eyes. Graves can almost hear his thoughts. _It’ll be quick. I’ll just slip out._

Except he hasn’t used that kind of magic, the Obscurial-like smoke, since before he had a wand.

And Graves is terrified of losing him.

_He may not come back,_ he thinks. _He may not be able to stay, if he lets his magic loose again._

“Let them go,” Robert says lowly.

The words drop like stones.

_Oh,_ Graves thinks, and he is both amused and uneasy. _It’s him they should have restrained._

“Who’s this one?” the fifth man asks, jerking his head towards Robert.

“Dunno,” the third man grits, a hand pressed to his side. One of Credence’s well-aimed spells.

“Doesn’t matter,” the fifth man sighs, “We have the Obscurial and Graves. They’re the ones we were told to watch out for.”

“Let them go and I won’t hurt you,” Robert says, mild, but his dark brown eyes are already darkening.

The third man snorts, but Graves can feel the spell weakening. He shifts a little, hand moving, wand ready. Credence moves a little but Graves stares at him, trying to explain.

_Don’t. Wait._

Credence looks a bit confused at first, but Graves can see the trust in his eyes. The precious trust.

_Okay._

“We’ll kill them if you try anything,” the fifth man replies. “so don’t bother. Look for your commendation some other day, young man.”

Graves wants to laugh. His lips twitch, and the third man looks at him, confused.

“He’s the one you should have worried about,” Graves manages, and the adrenaline in his veins pumps in time to the anticipation he feels.

“ **Drop your wands** ,” Robert commands, and magic crackles in the air. His head is tilted- an old habit of concentration Graves had noticed years ago.

This kind of magic is old. Unspeakable. Dangerous.

And Robert does it well.

The men both choke a little, eyes wide as they try to struggle, but their hands move automatically, opening. Credence moves immediately, retrieving the fifth man’s wand, training his on his captor. Graves feels the spell break and he rises to his feet quickly, freezing the man before him.

“Well done,” he tells Robert softly, treading lightly. “Let it go, Robert.”

Robert stares at the floor, watching the immobilized men.

“What’s happening to him?” Credence asks, almost whispering.

“He’s fine,” Graves says, pausing, holding his hand to stop Credence from moving closer. “Just a little lost.”

The door opens then and the Aurors move in. Graves notices them shiver a little, moving quickly, not quite aware of what is wrong but feeling the sliver of magic threading around them. Bertrand moves quickly, immediately turning to Robert.

“Don’t listen to the whispers,” he says, lifting Robert’s wand from the ground.

He holds it out, waiting.

It takes a moment, but Robert blinks, pupils shrinking, and his smile returns- flickering like a lightbulb at first, then stronger.

“Well. That was interesting,” he says, accepting his wand, and he presses his other hand to Bertrand’s for a moment. Thanking.

“Yes,” Credence says, raising an eyebrow. Graves wants to laugh at the sarcasm there.

So he does.

* * *

“Well done,” Picquery says, gazing at him, and he can see her gradually allow a little more acceptance into her tone.

_That seemed painful,_ he thinks drily, but he appreciates it. He has proved himself, he thinks, and it is the first step towards acceptance.

“Thank you, Madam President,” he says quietly.

“He did well,” Robert says cheerily, and Credence remembers the way the man’s voice had changed.

_Old magic,_ Graves had said quietly. _It cost him a great deal to learn. We’ve all given a bit of ourselves to protect others._

“Yes,” Graves smiles, and Credence wants to bask in the warmth. “he’s earned his keep.”

“Certainly,” Picquery smiles a little, fond and resigned. “and it’s just as well. Given the circumstances, I’m reinstating your former team.”

Credence watches Robert and Graves’ eyebrows rise. He wonders, amused, if they will fly into the distance.

_It’s about time,_ he thinks. _She’s been wanting to do this for a while._

He had suspected, far back when Graves had first requested to teach Credence magic. Picquery is a little cunning, he thinks, which is probably what makes her such a good leader in times like these.

_I wonder if she ever truly expected me to succeed._

“Well. I guess we’ll be doing some training soon, then,” Robert says, twirling a chain on his finger.

A necklace, Credence thinks. He wonders what it is.

“Many of them have been out of combat since the war,” Graves reminds Picquery.

Credence can hear the excitement in his voice, though. _Old friends_. He’s excited, too. He wants to know these people, old friends, men and women who would have been the closest to Graves.

“Yes. It’s a good thing you’re around, then,” she adds, vaguely amused. “You have a week.”

“A week,” Robert chuckles in amusement as they turn to leave. “We’ll have to tell Bellbow.”

“Yes. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the timeline,” Graves snorts.

“We won’t need a week,” Credence smiles, because he can already tell.

He can tell from the way Robert and Graves walk in step, both quite different but very similar in the end, walking with eyes focused ahead. Walking with purpose.

And he is walking with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where the hell the idea of "magical suicide squad" came from but you can bet your ass I believe Graves would have been in on that. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this latest installment. I want to reiterate that your comments are what fuel my writing and sometimes, when I feel especially shitty, I go back and read them and smile. So thank you. You, the readers, are why I write. So never hesitate to let me know what you'd like to see or what I should do better!


	5. Offices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graves' old team is called back together, with a few new additions. In the process, Credence learns a little more about the man he loves.

****“Who were they? Your team?”

Graves smiles, towel resting on his shoulders, and he turns to the desk. Credence watches from the bed, sheets pulled close in the chill. He shivers- partly from the cold, but mostly because the candlelight softens the lines on Graves’ bare back.

When Graves approaches the bed, he has papers in his hands.

“The best of us,” he says, handing over a worn piece of parchment.

Credence holds it carefully. _It feels soft,_ he thinks. _Worn._ The edges are torn in a few places and there are stains on it- water, perhaps, or maybe something else. The names are written in a fine hand.

_Melody Anaview (A)*_

_Avery Bellbow (DMLE)_

_Robert Belmonte (A)_

_Donovan Callum (DMLE)*_

_Andromeda Gillespie (IMY)_

_Percival Graves (DMLE)_

_Ianto Holliday (DIMC)_

_Marianne Jordan (A)*_

_Justine Kevanitch (IMY)*_

_Bertrand Shepard (D9)_

_Lucine Watkins (A)*_

_Evarard Young (DIMC)*_

“Twelve,” Credence murmurs, shifting closer to Graves’ warmth. “Somehow I expected more.”

“An army?” Graves chuckles. “No. We were the few. The different. We were all part of other groups- some from Law Enforcement, like myself. Others from International Cooperation, even prospective teachers. Everyone specialized in something.”

“That’s what the letters stand for?”

“Yes. Departments.”

“The stars?”

He thinks he knows, but he wants to be sure. Graves traces a star with his finger, pausing, and Credence feels a little sorry for asking.

“…gone. Lost, in different battles. Any time one of us was in trouble, symbols would appear on the parchment. To warn others. Any time a star appeared, we knew- we knew.”

Graves is quiet. _He is thinking,_ Credence notices, _but not lost. He’s learned. He knows, I think, how to handle death._

It’s a sad thing to think but it’s true. And maybe, Credence thinks, there is a strength to it.

“Did you all get along?”

“It took a while for some,” Graves chuckles, coming back from his memories. “but yes. In the end, you can’t survive if you can’t trust each other.”

* * *

“Good lord, man, I’m not going to kill myself-,” Robert’s voice floats out from the room and Credence casts a glance at Graves.

 _You know as much as I do,_ Graves’ amused expression seems to say.

“Hello,” Credence ventures, slipping into the conference room.

He almost chokes on air.

Robert is on a book ladder, reaching up to the top of the ceiling-high shelf, and Bertrand appears mildly exasperated as he holds the ladder with one hand, the other grasping Robert’s belt.

_What in the world-_

“Oh! Hello, friends,” Robert says cheerily, and the ladder moves a centimeter.

“Rob, _please_ ,” Bertrand says.

“You’re an old woman,” Robert says matter-of-factly, and when he jumps off the ladder and onto the floor Credence can see Bertrand blanch for a moment.

“Before you two start arguing like an old married couple, why don’t we move things around,” Graves suggests, but the statement is softened by his grin.

“Of course, sir,” Bertrand sighs, and as he draws his wand Credence watches the chairs begin to move.

 _They’re all very close,_ he thinks. They’d have to be, fighting a war together.

Losing friends together.

He’s watching the movement when someone enters.

“Credence,” Tina smiles, briefly squeezing his arm as she moves to help. “It’s good to see you.”

There are four others following her. Credence recognizes them by sight, mostly- new Aurors that have come through.

“Bellbow is on his way,” Bertrand mentions, watching the chairs arrange themselves around the oval table. “He’s energetic today.”

“He’s energetic,” Graves corrects.

“You’re not talking about me,” A voice booms from the doorway.

Bellbow is probably exactly what Credence would have imagined, if he’d had time to. The man is enormous- he looks capable of lifting a horse or two. His shirt is tight around his muscles but he seems cheery, blue eyes bright. His blonde hair is curiously long.

“Avery,” Robert laughs, placing the books he has retrieved on the table. “There’s my favorite Viking!”

“Robert. I see you’re still small,” Bellbow laughs good-naturedly. “And Bertrand! How are you?”

“Well,” Bertrand says simply.

Credence smiles a little. _They are all close,_ he thinks. _It’s fascinating. Like they’re different men around each other._

Bellbow turns and his blue eyes are calculating even as he smiles, sizing Credence up. Graves moves a little closer and Credence feels amused, wondering _does he think I need support? Or is he worried about what they’ll think?_

He doesn’t have a chance to speak, though, because two new arrivals walk through the door.

“Gillespie,” Robert smiles, greeting the woman.

Gillespie reminds Credence of Queenie, just a little. She has the same softness about her, but there is something darker in her countenance. It’s on all of them, Credence thinks- the mark of darkness. Gillespie is in black and white, her rose coat the only color she wears. Her brown eyes are quick to survey the room even as she greets the others, removing her hat to let long hair fall out of its confines.

“Holliday!” Bellbow booms, greeting the man who has entered with Gillespie. “How are you?”

“Fantastic, now that I can see properly,” the man laughs.

He is tired-looking, but in good spirits. Credence wonders at the man’s white-blond hair, shining in the light. His eyes have curious scars around them, spidery whitish marks that seem to allude to a curse or old injury.

They are talking when Picquery enters.

The room quiets a little, respectful but not frightened. The woman glances about the room, nodding.

“Now that you’ve arrived, please take a seat- there are introductions and matters to discuss,” she starts, moving towards the head of the table.

It only takes a few moments for them to sit. Credence waits, unsure, but Graves smiles at him and pulls him towards two empty seats.

“I’d like to welcome all of you back,” Picquery starts, glancing around the table. “We’ll discuss our purpose soon, but first, I believe introductions are in order. After all, we have a few new arrivals.”

“Jonathan Steadwell,” the first man stands, and Credence recognizes him as the man from his first visit to MACUSA. “I train new recruits.”

“Logan Smith. Auror.”

“Joseph Finlin. Historian and Runic translator.”

“Constance Smith. Auror.” _The one who tried to take me from Graves one day._

“Enna Carroway, Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

They’re relatively unfamiliar faces, and then the others- the originals, Credence thinks- start to introduce themselves.

“Avery Bellbow, Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Andromeda Gillespie, Auror and Magical Lore specialist.”

“Ianto Holliday, Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

“Robert Belmonte, Auror.”

“Bertrand Shepard. D9.”

A whisper runs through the new recruits and Credence glances at Graves, confused. Something in Graves’ expression says _later_.

 _I’ll have to ask about D9,_ Credence thinks.

“Porpentina Goldstein, Auror.”

“Percival Graves, Head of Security,” Graves says, glancing at Credence.

It’s a question. An offer.

Credence considers, for a moment, accepting the offer. He doesn’t know most of these people. He has no reason to trust or even like them. He could relinquish his voice, stay in the shadows, watch and wait.

But he doesn’t want to.

 _I’ve been an outsider for years,_ he thinks. _No more_.

“Credence Barebone,” he says, and because he doesn’t imagine there is a category for him he doesn’t name one.

He notices when eyes appraise him. Curious. Some hostile. He thinks they’re probably thinking, ruminating on office gossip and common knowledge.

Thinking about the Obscurial- or past Obscurial- in their midst.

“The twelve of you are here for a reason,” Picquery starts, drawing attention away. “You’ll be split into three teams. As a whole, you will constitute a new task force dedicated to protection and countermeasures.”

Credence glances at Graves. _Like last time,_ he thinks, and he notices the way Graves has changed a little, less accessible, more distant. He wonders at the change, thinking, _I’m the only one to see him how he is. At home. Relaxed. Defenses gone._

“Steadwell will lead the third team. Smith, Carraway, Finlin- you will be working with him. Bellbow will lead the second team with Goldstein, Gillespie and Holliday. Graves will lead the first team. Belmonte, Shepard, and Barebone will work with him. The teams will be assigned according to experience and specialty- Team three will operate as mobile agents, scouting in pairs or as a group. Team two will be assigned primarily to the city. Team one will act as the final defense or offense as needed.”

“Madam President,” Steadwell starts, “if I may- I was told that we would function outside of our respective departments. Are we still to keep current duties, or are we expected to operate primarily within the new teams?”

“You will keep your current positions,” Picquery says, surveying the table. “These teams, while holding precedence in terms of assignments, will not be constantly operational. Your assignments, in these first few weeks, will largely concern intelligence. We are not at war yet- but we _will_ be prepared for it.”

The room is quiet. Credence wonders if the newer recruits are nervous. _Have they seen battle?_ He wonders, glancing around the table. _Have they seen what dark magic does? Do they know?_

“You will all train with your respective teams,” Picquery finishes, moving away from the table. “and I would suggest you remember this: without trust, there can be no victory.”

* * *

Graves is moving about the crowded room, saying goodbye to Bellbow, when he catches the tail end of something Smith is saying to Credence.

“-fooled, but I won’t buy it. The only thing an Obscurial has ever done is destroy. Maybe you’re their favorite- but I know what you’ve done. It wouldn’t take much, I’ll bet, for you to snap.”

“Smith,” Graves says lowly, feeling a fire simmer in his chest, but he keeps it quiet.

Even despite his best intentions, he can tell people are turning towards them. Conversations hushed.

“Sir,” the man says, a little surprised, but he doesn’t hide.

“Apologize,” Graves says quietly.

Logan Smith, the new Auror, stares at Graves. He is defiant. Something is in his eyes and Graves thinks, _don’t try it. Don’t even try._

“I’m sorry, sir, but I find it hard to believe that this _boy_ has made his way into a team meant to _protect_. Although I suppose your _favor_ …counts for quite a lot.”

Graves can hear the growls and shocked gasps from his former teammates. Robert, unsurprisingly, makes a move to step forward but Graves sends him a look.

He takes a moment, looking to Credence.

_What would you like to do?_

And Credence, with cool indifference, turns away from Smith.

 _That’s my boy._ Graves smiles, feeling a bit dangerous, and he is proud.

“Smith, is it? I don’t suppose you were old enough to hold a wand when I fought in the last war. You might not have been old enough to read about it,” he starts, mild, enjoying the flushed indignance on the young man’s face. “Yet for some reason, you think your judgement better.”

“Not better,” the man tries, barely holding back his obvious anger. “Unclouded.”

“Truly?” Graves glances about the room, taking in the fixed gazes. _A demonstration, then. Fine._ “By all means, petition. Tell Picquery. Although I don’t think Madam President would take too kindly to being called a fool.”

“I _never_ -,”

“You did,” Robert says casually, leaning against a bookshelf. His eyes are dark. “Unless you think Graves simply _invited_ who he cared for?”

Smith, for once, bites his tongue.

“Trust is a hard thing to come by,” Graves says coolly, watching Smith. “Take care that you don’t lose what little you have.”

* * *

“What an idiot,” Bellbow snorts as he leaves with Graves, casting a sideways glance at Credence. “Don’t mind him. The rest of us know better.”

“I’m afraid any mind I pay to him will be forever lost,” Credence says drily.

Bellbow laughs, booming, and Graves bites back his smile.

“I like him,” Bellbow winks at Graves, nudging Credence.

The poor boy looks a little disconcerted at the strength behind the nudge but he casts Graves an incredulous look, smiling a little.

“I’m so glad,” Graves replies, sarcastic. “If you’ll excuse us-,”

“Oh, yes,” Bellbow snorts. “Don’t have too much fun until you’re out of the building, now.”

Graves is only a little annoyed, because Credence blushes and it is beautiful.

* * *

They only get five feet from the door before Graves is swarmed by new Aurors. Credence notices Finlin and Carraway are amongst the pack, no doubt having led their fellow newcomers to the renowned Auror.

“Sir, it’s an honor,” a young woman says, breathless, and Credence feels a spark of possessiveness that he tries to brush away.

 _You’re being silly,_ he tells himself, but the feeling is still there.

He feels pride, watching Graves give the young Aurors time and words, and it makes him warm inside. _He’s a good man,_ he thinks. _Keeper._

Something about Graves has always drawn him. Something magnetic. It isn’t quite his manner- he isn’t as friendly as Robert or as loved as Queenie. It’s something different. Something untouchable, stoic, quiet. He can see why Graves was put on a pedestal. How he stayed there. There is something private about him that makes others feel as if every conversation he has in a precious glimpse into his life.

 _And he’s mine,_ Credence thinks with pleasure.

It has never been like ownership between them. Their relationship is different. They are intertwined.

He thinks _mine_ because they are beyond two people; they are one. They do not _belong_ to each other; they _are_ each other. Their souls are twined, like the vines in the reading room, matching in tiny spaces that nothing else can fill.

He watches Graves excuse himself, polite and a little distant, and suddenly all he can think about is how much he _wants_ him.

 _So much for leaving the building,_ he thinks mischievously. _I’m not waiting._

* * *

He has only just closed the door when he finds himself turned against the wall, a hot mouth pressed against his lips.

_…what…?_

He is about to ask when Credence moves and Graves can feel the static of magic moving against the door.

_Did he just…?_

“No one will hear,” Credence whispers against his mouth, and he is lost.

“Won’t they?” Graves murmurs, turning Credence against the wall, smiling a little when his legs part, willing, giving his leg a space. “I seem to recall you being quite…vocal.”

He likes the taste when he bites at the boy’s neck and he wonders what it is, the peculiar mix, but Credence moans and he forgets to care.

“We could test it,” Credence gasps, and Graves look up to see his flushed face. “How loud could I be? Before they hear?”

Graves can’t even answer, he’s too busy replaying the words in his mind over and over. He knows they’re making no sense- an explosion could take place and no one would know- but it’s the thought that counts.

His desk is cleared in a second, hand waving items away. Credence is breathing heavily already, breath hot on Graves’ neck, and he enjoys the sensation.

 _It’s probably not comfortable,_ he thinks, a little guilty, but then he reminds himself that Credence initiated. And then he checks anyways, pausing, because starting something doesn’t mean anything.

Credence grins, mischievous, lying back on the desk, and Graves is a little floored when he bites Graves’ tie and draws him down.

 _He’ll be the death of me,_ Graves thinks incredulously, and then he kisses Credence, enjoying the messy teeth and tongue and lips. Bruising in their passion. Hands explore his suit, pushing layers away, and Graves has to remind himself to pull at Credence’s shirt, enjoying the coolness of the skin beneath.

“Try harder,” Credence laughs, breathless, and Graves nips at his collarbone.

_Honestly._

“Harder?” Graves asks, innocent, and he barely notices the warmth on his fingers.

He may be distracted, but he is not an uncaring partner. He knows better than to burn.

He moves against Credence, fingers exploring, and Credence arches off the desk. _Surprised,_ Graves notices, satisfied.

“B-better,” Credence manages, but his sly tone is slipping.

Graves has never quite been able to place what it is about this, _this,_ the intimacy, the simple act, that draws him closer. He has had past encounters- usually brief, never really accompanied by relationships. Fumbling and stumbling in bathrooms or dormitories. Women and then men. None of those moments- none of those experiences have come close to this.

He wonders if it’s their relationship, outside of sex, or if maybe it’s just Credence.

He like to think it’s the latter.

“Come on,” Credence gasps, bringing him back into the moment. “We’ll be late, remember?”

Graves laughs, leaning down to kiss him, and then he enters him.

Credence cries out, the sound pure ecstasy, and Graves feels immensely pleased. It isn’t just feeling, he thinks. It’s everything else. The way Credence is vulnerable, open, willing. Strong.

“Such beautiful noises,” Graves says, moving slowly.

But Credence growls, pushing against him, and Graves understands where the control lies. In this moment, he thinks, Credence _needs_ him- and he is willing to take, because there is trust between them.

So Graves moves faster, enjoying the rhythm and the way Credence is starting to drown out the sound of the shaking desk, and he pushes just as much as Credence pulls. They’re being rough, he knows, and there will be soreness and exhaustion later. Now, though, there is only pleasure- unrefined, turbulent, and a little selfish. They’re both being selfish, he thinks, and he is glad that they are able to. That there is enough trust between them to let go, unafraid.

Someone knocks on the door.

He is about to pause, give Credence the decision, but before he can he notices the way the boy’s eyes are feverishly bright. Graves’ mind is a mess, words and thoughts jumbled. He can’t tear his eyes from Credence, pale skin and bites decorating his body, blush high on his cheeks like fever-spots. And then Credence opens his mouth and speaks.

“He can’t- answer the door,” Credence yells, laughing breathlessly, hands gripping the edges of the desk, and his eyes close with a thrust, back arching further, laughter turning into a moan. “He’s _too busy fucking me_.”

And Graves yells just as loudly, splintering, nails scraping against hips. Credence _pulls_ , arms leaving the desk to scratch welts across Graves’ lower back, legs tight against his sides. Graves can _feel_ Credence shaking around him, tremors vibrating between their bodies, and he feels a second rush almost as powerful as the first.

He can only hear their voices, intermingled, echoing in the room.

The waves subside, leaving smaller pulses in their wake, and he breathes out. Credence, he thinks, is spent just as he is, sagging against the desk, arms bent about his head. He is beautiful, Graves thinks, and he wants to always see him this way, open and flushed with color.

“That’s my boy,” Graves murmurs, smiling, enjoying the satiation and slowness as he kisses Credence.

“Not bad for an old man,” Credence giggles, and he stutters when Graves bites his ear.

“This old man can lift you just as well,” Graves growls, teasing.

“Is that a promise?”

Graves laughs, dazed, and he brushes Credence’s hair back into place.

“It’s a promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I can forgive myself for writing a whole damn chapter around Credence's line about being unable to answer the door. This was purely self-serving trash disguised in a wrapping meant to answer some questions about Graves' old team for readers. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this installment. As of now, I have marked this complete, but I may consider adding a chapter later. I don't know. I feel like right now, this series is almost closed- we may have one multi-chap left. I don't know what I have left in store. Thanks for following!

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone. Merry Christmas- and I hope you're looking forward to the New Year.


End file.
